


Inspired by TV Tropes

by luckysilverbell



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Gen, general OOC-ness, tvtropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckysilverbell/pseuds/luckysilverbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. A bunch of cracksy Lord of the Rings drabbles inspired by TV Tropes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Boromir is Genre-Savvy

"You know, I don't think this plan was very well thought out," Legolas commented idly to Aragorn at dinner one night.

"How do you figure?" Aragorn replied monotonously, not looking up from his stew.

The elf shrugged lightly. "Well, we're a group of nine walking more than halfway across the continent to sneak into the midst of hundreds of thousands of orcs and drop the epitome of evil into a volcano."

Aragorn nodded. "I know it's a long shot, Legolas, but--"

"Oh, no, that's not what I was insinuating," Legolas interrupted hastily. "That plan actually might work rather well. Or, at least, it _would_ if the nine companions didn't include four hobbits who have never seen battle, an elf and a dwarf who bicker at any and every given opportunity, a cryptic wizard who seems to have his own agenda that he's forgotten to share with the class, and while we're on the topic of 'hidden agendas', those are the only two words I can think of to accurately describe our other dear friend of the human persuasion."

A brief silence followed Legolas's outburst as Aragorn struggled not to laugh. "Was there a point in all of that?" he asked finally.

Legolas frowned. "I'm just saying that Elrond could've put a little more thought into the members of this merry band instead of taking spur-of-the-moment volunteers."

There was a sudden noise behind them as Boromir moved to sit closer to the fire. "You know," he said dully, "speaking of ill thought-out plans, whose bright idea was it to leave the armor in Rivendell?"

"Mine," Aragorn replied, glancing sidelong at Boromir. "Why do you ask?"

Boromir shrugged. "Seems like a strange thing to leave behind, considering the circumstances."

"If I've explained it once, I've explained it a hundred times, Boromir," Aragorn said with a groan. "This is a stealth mission. We must travel light. Our aim is to avoid detection and--"

"And when does that ever work?" Boromir interrupted. "It's inevitable. Whenever any small group sets out on a quest of any importance, they _always_   run into some insane amount of heavily-armed enemies, and believe me, when that happens—and it will, just you wait—you're going to wish we'd brought some better armor!"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Armor will only slow us down. What part of 'traveling light' don't you understand?"

"I understand the concept perfectly," Boromir replied coldly. "The point I was trying to make is that if we wanted to make better time, maybe we should've brought the armor and left the Hobbits."

Legolas opened his mouth to argue, but the retort died in his throat. "He makes a good point, Aragorn," he said reluctantly. "Though I hate to admit it," he added with a small glare in Boromir's direction.

"Just being genre-savvy. You'll get used to it."

"We couldn't have left Frodo behind, though," Aragorn countered. "He _is_ the Ringbearer, after all."

Boromir and Legolas nodded reluctantly. "True."

"Though on the topic of Frodo, I'm starting to think we should get a leash for him," the ranger added. "It's been, what? Six times someone's had to drag him kicking and screaming out of danger?"

"More like eight, if Sam's testimony is anything to go by," agreed Legolas.

Boromir got to his feet. "Well, that settles it."

"Settles what?" Legolas asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm gonna modify that pony's reins to fit Frodo."

"Sit down, Boromir," Aragorn snapped wearily. "It was a joke. We're not putting Frodo on a leash."

Boromir huffed and returned to his seat by the fire. "There _has_ to be an easier way to get rid of the damn thing."

"I thought we were in agreement that Frodo stays," Legolas said, rolling his eyes.

"I was talking about the _Ring_ , you twit," replied Boromir levelly. "How can Elrond be sure throwing it into Mt.Doom is the only way to go about this? I mean, has he even _tried_ an alternative solution?"

Both men glanced automatically in Legolas's direction, who blinked indignantly. "What, you think _I_ know?" he exclaimed. "If any of us would know anything about the extent of Elrond's knowledge of the Ring, it should be Aragorn. Or Gandalf," he concluded lamely.

“Well, we’ve got some time before we set out tomorrow,” Aragorn said with a shrug. “Let’s see if we can do it any damage.”

 


	2. In Which Éomer is Surrounded by Idiots

“I think Grima has betrayed us.”

Several men glanced in Éomer’s direction, varying degrees of annoyance and skepticism on their faces. “Paranoia,” one scoffed.

There was a brief silence as Éomer stared at his men in shock. “You’re serious??” he exclaimed. “ ** _None_** of you can see it?!”

“I’m not saying I blame you, my lord,” came the reply. “The man is creepy. It’s only understandable that you’d be suspicious of him after the way he flirts with your sister.”

“He **_WHAT??_** ”

A few of the men flinched. “It’s understandable that you’re only trying to protect your—”

“This has nothing to do with Éowyn!” he snapped. “…yet. But you’re missing the point! Has anyone else noticed the changes in the King recently?”

There was some muttering and shrugging. “What changes, my lord?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know!” Éomer said sarcastically. “Maybe the fact that he’s aged fifty years in the month since Grima arrived, can’t remember his own name, and thinks he’s living in Silent Hill!”

Again, the shrugging. “It’s a coincidence,” one said. “How could the King’s illness make you suspect Grima of treason?”

Éomer glanced pointedly across the hall at Grima, who was reading the latest edition of Putting the ‘Ease’ in ‘Treason’. “You know what? Forget it.”


	3. In Which Faramir is Genre-Savvy (In His Own Special Way)

“Wait, Boromir was your brother?” Sam repeated.

Faramir frowned. “I believe I _just_ said that.”

Sam chose to ignore the pointed sarcasm. “So, does that mean you can do that thing he used to do?”

“My brother did many things; you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The thing where he could pretty much predict the future!” Sam elaborated. “He used to do it all the time, and he was always right. …So that would probably mean that you’re right about him being dead.”

Faramir’s mouth hung open for a second before he asked, “What did he say would happen?”

“Said something about the plot demanding a sacrifice. He said the least important member of any group will either be a double agent or will die heroically and violently.”

Frodo frowned. “But Sam, Gandalf died heroically in Moria, remember?”

“Boromir said he’d get better!”

“He fell off a cliff into the abyss, Sam!”

“But Boromir said—”

“Boromir also said some nonsense about Sméagol being stuck in a Heel-Face Revolving Door. I think he may have been a bit touched in the head!”

Sam threw up his hands in exasperation. “Well, _fine_! If you _want_ Gandalf to be dead…”

“Of _course_ I don’t want Gandalf to be dead, Sam!” Frodo replied angrily. “But we have to be realistic! There’s no way he could’ve survived a fall like that!”

Sam grumbled. “Believe what you want,” he said stubbornly.

“You just want Boromir to be dead, don’t you?!”

“Well, of course I do, Mr. Frodo!” Sam said. “He was a real jerk. The world’s better off without him, anyways.” He paused for a moment. “No offence, of course, Faramir.”

“None taken,” Faramir replied. “Boromir and I weren’t very close, after all.”

“Really?” Sam asked, surprised.

“No, you little imp! He was my best friend and the only one who could shield me from my insane father’s over-the-top abuse!”

Sam winced. “Oh. Well, sorry bout that.”

“But your father is the Steward of Gondor,” Frodo reasoned. “He can’t be _that_ crazy, or someone would’ve done something by now!”

“Look at the state of Gondor,” Faramir replied acidly. “There are Oliphants and creeps in turbans having parades through our land with mariachi bands and giant Snoopy balloons from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, and yet my father insists on keeping the majority of the army within the city. He won’t send any reinforcements to Osgillith—our _last defense_ against Mordor—and hasn’t seen the light of day in almost two months, except for when he gets drunk and takes a piss on the white tree of Gondor.”

“Oh.” Frodo nodded. “That, um, does sound pretty crazy. So… uh… why hasn’t anyone removed him from power yet?”

Faramir shrugged. “You see it in stories all the time,” he explained. “My father is what you’d call a ‘red herring’. He may look like he’s the killer, but he’s just there so it’s more of a surprise when we find out who the _real_ killer is.”

One of the soldiers next to them rolled his eyes. “Lord Faramir, we already know who the ‘killer’ is.”

“Do we really??” Faramir exclaimed in genuine surprise.

“Yes, my lord,” the soldier continued, exasperated. “It’s Sauron.”

“No one tells me anything!”


End file.
